Don't Come Page 3

  DOM: Good girl. You're beautiful.

  Was I supposed to thank him? That was okay, right? It was proper manners. And also acknowledging that his opinion mattered. Which a Dom would like. I hoped.

  WBSUB: Thank you, sir.

  Even after two weeks, calling him sir still felt a little awkward, a little forced to type. I couldn't imagine actually saying it to a man. Even one who demanded it.

  DOM: Do you want a picture?

  Did I?

  The idea was actually a little terrifying for me. I remember when BDSM books were taking over every bookstore in the city, and I caught a set of women in very goth-looking getups rolling their eyes at them and declaring Yeah, okay. A super hot billionaire Dom. What a joke. Most of them are gross, old, or creepy in real life. Not exactly panty-melting. But I guess it's cool that the masses get to have their naive fantasies.

  I didn't know how I would handle it if DOM ended up being old, gross, or creepy. I wasn't a superficial person by any stretch of the word. My dating life had covered everything from super hot high school jock to lazy, sloppy gamer, and several things in between. It was all about the connection.

  But at the same time, attraction had to be a factor.

  You couldn't expect to have a relationship - just sexual or otherwise - with someone unless they got you all hot and bothered.

  And I was enjoying this fantasy so much that there was a huge chance for disappointment here, a chance that this reality would shatter the dream.

  That being said, it was better to know, right? Before I got more invested.

  WBSUB: If you would like to show me.

  DOM: Answer the question, Adley. Do you want a picture?

  WBSUB: Yes, sir.

  There was only a short pause before a picture popped up on my screen, making my belly tighten painfully in a mix of excitement and worry.

  But the picture wasn't of an old, creepy, unhealthy guy.

  What I could tell was that he was fit, caucasian, dark-haired, and... that was about it.

  The way the picture was taken made it hard to see anything else. It was shot in impossibly low light with a bit of a lamp shining on him, casting him mostly in shadow, but showing enough of an outline that I could see a set of abs, wide shoulders, and the side of a face that could be average or extremely handsome, but definitely not ugly.

  WBSUB: Thank you, sir.

  And just like that, the fantasy wasn't shattered.

  It only strengthened.

  Two weeks later, he gave me the chance to opt into Tier Three, and give him my phone number.

  It was the first time I could recall that I tried to make a stipulation, tried to hold onto a small bit of control.

  WBSUB: Could we still just text for a while?

  DOM: You have until May 1st to get comfortable with the idea of talking to me, Adley. If you aren't by then, we will have to end this relationship. Understood?

  I felt my stomach drop at the idea of this ending. It was ridiculous really. But I had begun to rely on these conversations. They gave me an escape, something to count on outside of work. And, well, I got to have what I wanted. I got to have my Dom after a lifetime of being denied the one thing I craved.

  WBSUB: Understood.

  Then I gave him my number.

  And he proved true to his word, something that created an undeniable sense of trust between the two of us, allowing me to follow ever-increasing risqué demands.

  All of them ending with one simple command.

  Don't come.

  I walked back into my apartment after a night out with friends, something that had been almost unbearably uncomfortable with a plug.

  Not because it hurt.

  But because, I found as the day went on, it started to do the impossible. It started to feel good.

  Each movement made me acutely aware of its presence, sent a jolt of need through my body.

  Dancing with my girlfriends had, embarrassingly, almost brought me to orgasm at least a dozen times.

  But I had my instructions.

  I had to keep the plug in.

  And I wasn't allowed to come.

  DOM: Are you home?

  Adley: Yes, sir.

  DOM: Did you have a good time?

  He wasn't just giving me pleasantries.

  This was another pleasant surprise that I had learned after I had given DOM my number and, therefore, unrestricted, twenty-four-hour access to me.

  DOM didn't just ask me how my day was, or about my work, or if I had fun with my friends because it was a way to segue into something more sexual. No. He actually wanted to know. If my answers were too short, he would ask follow-up questions, demand more details.

  Like he wanted to know about me, about my life.

  It wasn't just the sexy stuff.

  He was interested in me as a person too.

  It made me feel a heck of a lot less like a possession.

  Adley: The plug made things... interesting. But, yes. It was nice to get out of the house for a while. Thanks for asking.

  I didn't know what I was expecting next, maybe some teasing about the plug, demanding questions that would make me blush all alone in my apartment.

  But I certainly didn't expect what the next text would say.

  Because I had clearly lost track of my days.

  DOM: Tomorrow is the deadline, Adley. I will call at ten p.m. If you don't answer, this is over.

  Oh, hell.

  TWO

  Adley

  Even though I knew the call wouldn't come until precisely the moment he said it would, I watched my phone like it was in imminent danger of catching fire all day. As I made my breakfast that I barely touched. As I fiddled with a book cover design that I felt like I just couldn't get absolutely perfect, even though the author told me she loved it as-is. As I scrubbed my apartment, took a long shower, forced down some dinner, answered last minute work emails, then finally resigned myself to the nerves, and curled up on the couch with a pint of salted caramel gelato.

  I wasn't going to answer the call, right?

  I mean, that was taking this from fantasy to reality.

  Alright, fine, maybe giving him my cell number at all was when that happened, but it still came with the detachment that can be between two people who communicate only through letters on a phone.

  Voices, yeah, that was personal.

  A voice that was likely going to tell me to do dirty things to myself while he listened... even more personal.

  I wouldn't call myself a prude, but phone sex was just never something I engaged in. It seemed like it would be awkward and impersonal.

  An argument could be made for the fact that, as I mentioned before, my exes left something to be desired in the confident and sexy department.

  DOM, well, I had a feeling he wasn't lacking in anyway shape or form.

  But that still didn't mean that I would be completely comfortable with this. Hell, sitting alone on my couch eating ice cream and thinking about it was having my cheeks flush hot at the very idea.

  And, also, if I agreed to this step, there would be another step. It didn't take a genius to know what that step would be. Meeting. Taking this from mostly-fantasy to one-hundred percent real life. This was the point of no return if I picked up the call. It would lead to a heart-hammering first encounter. Then, eventually, to whips and floggers and binding and...

  Okay, so maybe the idea of that was getting me beyond hot and bothered, but I had no idea how I would react to the actuality of it.

  Was it maybe just a fantasy like so many millions of other women? Or was I one of the few who genuinely wanted to have her ass beat with a flogger, paddle, cane, whip? Did I just like the idea of losing control, or did I actually want a man to completely take it away from me?

  The scary part was that I wasn't sure.

  And this was something you needed to be sure about.

  This, like many sexual decisions in life, had the potential to really alter the way you thought about yourse
lf. Not because of what society thought, but because of what you thought of yourself, what you have believed, what you felt after you tried something you did - or really, really didn't - enjoy.

  Were those risks I was willing to take?

  As I put the gelato back in the freezer even though it was mostly empty, I still didn't have an answer to that.

  And the clock was reading nine-fifty-five.

  I followed my odd need for darkness, turning every light off in my living room, grabbing the blanket off the back of my couch, and wrapping myself in it.

  The fact that my cell was fully charged and within reach was a testament to how conflicted I felt still, both sides of me having an equal stake in the matter.

  Then it rang.

  DOM calling...

  My belly flip-flopped as I watched the screen, as I listened to the ring.

  He wouldn't call a second time.

  I felt like I knew him enough at this point to know that this was my only shot. That if I disobeyed this order, it was done.

  And as I was sure the ring was heading to voicemail, my hand flew out and swiped the screen.

  Then I stared at it for an almost embarrassingly long second, my heart skipping into overdrive, anxiety a crawling feeling over the surface of my skin.

  But my hand raised to bring it to my ear.

  And while it was low, barely audible, and I could hear what was almost a tremble in the word, I did speak.

  "Hello?"

  "Adley," my name almost sighed out of him. Like relief. Like maybe he was as unsure about what I would do as I had been. As I still was. "You almost let me go to voicemail."

  It was an observation, but somehow, a question as well.

  And his voice, if you were wondering, liquid sex.

  That was what came to mind. Deep and smooth and oddly soothing, the kind of voice meant to liquify any panties within hearing distance.

  I took a deep breath, trying to find the confidence I usually possessed, even if I was mostly faking it.

  "I wasn't sure if I was going to pick up until I did," I admitted.

  "Why?"

  "Because I knew that if I picked up and we talked, that we would eventually meet. And if we meet..." I trailed off, figuring it didn't need to be said.

  DOM had other ideas.

  "Your pussy would belong to me." The words hit with impact, the kind that knocked out my air. "And every other part of you as well."

  Logically, I knew he couldn't own me. Not really. Everything that happened would be a choice I made, power I chose to give over. He could own me in theory, but in reality, I still held power. I still had the right to say no and walk away.

  But the real thought that chased the others was... maybe I want him to own me. At least parts of me. The parts of me that I had always wanted someone to control, had always had the desire to submit to another who was worthy of taking ownership of them.

  "Yes." The word exhaled out of me like a secret, like something I was unsure of sharing.

  "What are you really afraid of here, Adley? That you will hate it, or that you will love it?"

  There was always the fear that when you start to do something with a partner that you might end up hating it. That was a terrifying thing. Because, on one hand, you wanted to enjoy yourself. But also on the other, you didn't want to crush a fantasy of a partner either.

  But that being said, maybe he was right.

  Maybe I was afraid of how much I could like it. What that would say about me. If it would make me reevaluate things I had come to believe about myself.

  Could I truly be confident, driven, successful, and independent if I also liked to have someone completely dominate me?

  Maybe I would have to try it to see.

  And, well, I was already in this deep.

  "Both," I admitted.

  There was silence for a second before he spoke again. "If you hate it, you hate it. You move on. I move on. It's not a big deal. But if you love it, I can give you the things you haven't ever felt safe enough to admit to yourself that you want."

  He sounded so sure.

  I guess that came with his territory. No one would trust or submit to an uncertain Dominant.

  "What happens if we do something and I hate it?" The very careful, prudent part of me demanded I get specifics. Otherwise, I would drive myself completely crazy with hypotheticals.

  "We're not at that point yet, Adley."

  "I need to know."

  To that, there was actually a small sigh. I guess I was putting a crimp in his plans for the night. But up until now, I had been as obedient as a dog. I refused to feel bad about wanting more information.

  "Red yellow and green. Just like a traffic light. Green is go. Yellow is you're not sure, and you want to slow down. Red is stop. If you say red, everything stops. You take whatever you need from me to calm back down, and then you can decide if just the act is red, or everything is."

  "What if it is just the act?"

  "We move on to another act."

  "But what if you want..."

  "I can like something else just as much."

  "Wouldn't you be..."

  "Adley, I think I've been clear," he cut me off, tone more clipped, clearly done explaining himself. And, to be fair, he had been clear. If he said he would be okay with me ending something, he meant that. It was my fears and insecurities making me worry I would somehow be disappointing. "Now be a good girl, take your clothes off, and get in bed." His tone was more controlled again, not brash and intimidating.

  I stood, dropping the giant blanket back on the couch, and moved through to my bedroom.

  "I have to put the phone down," I said after I got out of my pants and panties.

  "Ten seconds."

  Crap.

  I had three layers and a bra on.

  I threw down the phone, counting in my head as I whipped off my sweatshirt, t-shirt, then tank, reaching behind me to claw at my bra until it was free, picking up the phone on nine.

  "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath as I slid into bed, flicking off the light, still feeling the need to blanket this in darkness.

  I wanted to know if he was taking off his clothes too, if he was in bed too. But I wasn't sure if it was my place to ask.

  I don't know what I expected next, maybe a demand to touch myself, but it wasn't what actually came out of his mouth.

  "Are you nervous?"

  My answer was immediate and truthful. "Yes."

  "Have you ever done this before?"

  I could feel my cheeks warming even though I knew he couldn't see me while I admitted the truth. "Yes."

  "Yes, what?" he asked, a quiet, almost gentle reprimand.

  "Yes, sir," I answered, my eyes closing hard in embarrassment. It was as odd to hear my voice say as I thought it would be, even if it came out easier than expected.

  "What are you nervous about? That I will get to hear you moan while you touch your pussy?"

  "Yes, sir," I admitted, curling slightly to press my heated face into my pillow.

  "Well, there is only one way to get over that," he informed me, voice a little devious, like maybe he was enjoying this - my inexperience in this one small thing, was pleased by getting to expose me to it. "Are you in bed?"

  "Yes, sir," I said, feeling my belly swirl around in a way that was both excitement and nervousness.

  "Even though you're nervous, your pussy is already wet and throbbing for me, isn't it?"

  There was no denying it.

  "Yes, sir."

  "You haven't touched yourself without my permission, have you?"

  Ugh, I wish.

  The sexual frustration was making it so that it was hard to even focus anymore. It was a constant thing, a pressure that wouldn't go away, a clawing sensation that was even there when I woke up in the middle of the night.

  But I had my rules.

  I could only touch myself when he told me I could.

  And I was never allowed to come.

  I wa
s hoping, praying that tonight would be the night when the torment ended. Because he could hear it this time. He could participate.

  I knew it was going to be intense, that there was no way I would be able to keep quiet as I came. And, suddenly made acutely aware of how much I needed it, I couldn't seem to summon the embarrassment I would normally be feeling.

  "No, sir."

  "Good girl. Run your hands up your stomach to stroke over your nipples. Imagine it is my teeth as you pinch them."

  He had said hands, so I set the phone down right beside me on the pillow, setting it to speaker as my hands moved to do as instructed, my eyes closing tight to be able to imagine the brush of stubble on the skin of my belly, then between my breasts, before his head shifted, and his teeth nipped into my hardened peaks, sending a white-hot shot of pain and pleasure through my system. I could hear my breath sucking in as my fingers squeezed hard, suddenly pleased that he could hear it as well.

  "I didn't say to stop," his voice called. "Harder, Adley," he demanded, sending another jolt of need between my legs. My fingers twisted harder, making a whimpering sound burst from me, something that was maybe slightly more pain than pleasure, though my body didn't seem to care as another rush of wet formed between my thighs. "Harder," he demanded again.

  "I can't take--" I started to object.

  "Yes, you can. Do what you're told," he instructed, voice demanding and, if I wasn't mistaken, just a bit more rough. Like maybe he was enjoying this too. Like maybe he was getting off on it. And, somehow, hearing that gave me what I needed to twist just a little harder, sending a searing heat through my nipples. "Good girl," he praised, sounding pleased with me, something that I thought maybe shouldn't have, but totally did, give me a sense of accomplishment. "Let go," he said, voice getting deeper.